Redux
by Child of a Pineapple
Summary: FINISHED. So while his mother had inherited a rather extensive collection of bees, Chuck had inherited his grandfather’s pie shop. WARNING: Character death. OneShot.


_This was written a couple months ago, but I hadn't gotten around to posting it over here yet. Now seemed like as good a time as any...so here we are._

_This story placed third in the pdfichallenge round #1 over at LiveJournal. The prompt was 'back to life.'_

**_DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS -- I do not own Pushing Daisies. Warning, there is character death involved here...but it's all off page, so you don't have to worry about violence/gore/etc._**

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_Redux_

Charles Oliver, known by most as Chuck, had been 21 years, 14 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours and 34 minutes old when his grandfather had passed away. As Chuck was the only child of an only child of a rather reclusive widower, his grandfather's possessions had been relatively simple to divide.

So while his mother had inherited a rather extensive collection of bees, Chuck had inherited his grandfather's pie shop.

Chuck was not unfamiliar to the pie industry, having spent a great deal of his childhood with his grandfather in the very kitchen where he now stood. But three months after assuming the role of Pie Maker, Chuck was at his wit's end.

He had little reason to worry, however. Chuck had also inherited many of his grandfather's remarkable talents, including an innate ability to construct delectable, mouth-watering pies.

Chuck had one other thing in common with his grandfather, but he never told anyone about it.

oooooooooooooo

On Sundays, the Pie Hole was typically populated with families or groups of friends, enjoying a casual treat before the slog of the week began. By now Chuck was beginning to recognize a few of the faces, but there was one customer tonight that Chuck had mostly definitely not seen before.

The first time he spoke to her, she was sitting at the counter, staring off into space. She was a young, pretty brunette in a bright yellow dress, and she'd been in that same spot all afternoon. Chuck had lost count of how many times he'd passed by her. For the first time, however, he noticed something out of the ordinary.

"You haven't ordered," he says suddenly, pausing on one of his trips past her. She glances up suddenly, startled – then she catches Chuck's gaze and does something he hasn't seen her do all day.

She smiles.

"I'm sorry," she replies quickly, shifting in her seat. "It's just…I wanted to see this place again," she explains. "I used to come here a lot, a long time ago." She pauses, glancing around. "A very, _very_ long time ago."

Somehow Chuck doubts that it could have been _that_ long ago, as the woman looks as if she's a few years older than him at best. But he's a gentleman, and knows better than to bring up a woman's age.

So instead, he asks, "What's your name?"

"Charlotte."

"My mother's name is Charlotte," he replies automatically. An instant later he wonders if that was a silly thing to say, because it sounds silly, even to him.

But she's smiling again, a sad, almost knowing smile. He isn't really sure what to make of that, though.

"Some people call me Chuck," she offers, the smallest of grins still gracing her features.

Now it's his turn to smile. "That might get confusing," he explains.

"Do you already know a Chuck?" she asks.

"Yeah," he replies sheepishly. "Me."

"Oh!" She smiles, and shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. "I guess we'll stick with Charlotte, then." She sighs, then reaches for her purse. "I should probably get going," she says, standing up. "It's been nice talking to you, Chuck."

"It's been nice talking to you, too," he replies. "You should come back sometime -- maybe even try the pie. My treat."

She laughs, heading for the door. "Maybe," she replies, and then she's gone, leaving Chuck to wonder why exactly she seemed so familiar.

oooooooooooooo

It's just after closing the second time he sees her. He's back in the kitchen when a swift tapping sounds from the front door, and he looks up to see Charlotte waving from outside, clutching a leash with a golden retriever at the other end. He hurries across the restaurant to let her in.

"I was just walking by, and I was wondering if your offer still stands," she explains, a little breathless. Chuck grins and opens the door wider, allowing Charlotte and the dog to enter.

They take a seat in a booth right by the door, each enjoying a slice of rhubarb pie, while the dog curls up on the floor beside them. Chuck marvels at how comfortable the dog seems in the environment -- he's completely relaxed, and watching with an almost curious expression.

"What's his name?" Chuck asks, returning the dog's gaze, not really stopping to consider that he's having a staring contest with a dog.

"Digby," Charlotte replies.

Chuck looks up then, and frowns. There's something oddly familiar about that name, like maybe he read it somewhere, or heard it on the television. He tells Charlotte as much, but she just shakes her head.

"I've never known another Digby," she explains, then changes the subject. "So, what makes a person devote their life to pies?"

"My grandfather ran this place," Chuck tells her, setting his fork aside. "He passed away a few months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Charlotte replies solemnly. There's something in her tone that strikes Chuck – a sincerity that far surpassed any Hallmark-card condolences.

"I guess I just couldn't let it go," Chuck continues, gesturing to the empty restaurant around them. "So, I took some time off from college and moved back. And here I am," he concludes, shrugging.

"You left school?" Charlotte questions. "What were you studying?"

"Pre law."

Charlotte's jaw drops in surprise. "You left _law school _to take over your grandfather's pie shop?"

"_Pre_ law," Chuck reminds her, "and it's stupid, right? I mean, I could be a lawyer, and…"

"You're making pies for a living," Charlotte finishes.

"Exactly." Chuck shakes his head. "Stupid."

"I think it's sweet," Charlotte protests. "You and your grandfather…were you close?"

Chuck nods, trying to ignore the deep ache that reverberates in his chest anytime a conversation turned this direction. "Yeah, we were."

For a moment, Charlotte looks uncomfortable, or like she's reluctant to speak. "I don't mean to pry," she begins, "but, I mean, did he go peacefully?"

Chuck doesn't answer at first, and Charlotte apparently mistakes his pause for offense, as she rattles off, "I'm sorry, it's not my place. It's just…I told you before, how I used to come here, and…and he was always kind to me, so I wondered--"

"It's alright," he assures her. "It was unexpected, but yes, it was peaceful. He passed away in his sleep."

Charlotte looks down at her hands, and Digby lets out a low whine from his spot on the floor. At the sound, Charlotte shoots to her feet and grabs the leash.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, leading Digby towards the door. "I have to go."

Chuck's not as confused by the sudden departure as he is by the tears he could have sworn he saw in her eyes.

oooooooooooooo

The third time she grins sheepishly and wrings her hands.

"I suppose our last meeting went a little…awry." She keeps her voice light, and manages a smile.

"Just a little," Chuck admits. They're in line at the supermarket, and her red dress matches the three pounds of apples resting in his cart.

"I really am sorry about that," she offers. "I'm sort of dealing with a lot right now."

"Are you alright?" Chuck asks seriously.

"Oh, I'm fine," she reassures him. "But it doesn't help that I've just moved back to town and have yet to make any friends."

"Hmm." Chuck fakes a frown, but the corners of his lips tweak up in a smile. "That is a problem. But wait." He shakes his head. "No, that would never work."

"What?" Charlotte prompts, a grin creeping over her features as well.

"I could be your friend," he suggests.

Charlotte's smile widens, and she nods. "I think that'd be alright."

oooooooooooooo

She comes back to the Pie Hole for their fourth meeting, sporting a white dress spotted in bright orange blossoms. Her brown hair frames her face, and Chuck can't help but grin at the sight of her.

"Where do your parents live?" Charlotte asks. She's volunteered to help with the baking, claiming to know a thing or two about pies, and was currently rolling out a crust.

"Couer d'Couers," he replies, paring an apple. "Have you ever been there?"

"Once or twice," Charlotte replies airily. "It's been a while."

"It's a nice place." Chuck finishes the first apple and goes for a second. "What about you? Where does your family live?"

"I don't really have a family," she admits.

"None at all?"

Charlotte shakes her head. "Just Digby. But that's enough."

Somehow, he knows she's lying.

oooooooooooooo

Eventually he loses count of exactly how many times they've met – all he really knows is that Charlotte's visits have become a constant in his life, and that he looks forward to them more than he's ready to admit. They talk about his family, or his pies, or his dreams…but the conversation rarely turns to Charlotte. But Chuck is patient.

She stops in to say hello one afternoon, and is only there for a few moments before another visitor arrives. The man is elderly and more than a little hobbled, but his tongue is still as sharp as Chuck remembers.

"Emerson," Chuck calls, waving to his grandfather's old friend. "It's good to see you."

But Emerson doesn't answer him. Emerson doesn't answer because he's staring and Charlotte and Charlotte's staring back. For a moment, everything else fades away and Chuck quite suddenly realizes that there's something deep here, something much deeper than he's meant to understand.

Neither says a word, at least not in front of him – instead they take the booth by the door and stay there for _hours_, lost in a conversation. It isn't until that evening that Emerson leaves, lingering only long enough to bid Chuck farewell.

"How do you know Emerson?" Chuck wonders aloud once he and Charlotte are alone in the kitchen.

"Friend of a friend," she replies smoothly. She's baking cheese into the crust of a pie, an odd little quirk that Chuck had first noticed some weeks ago.

"He was a friend of my grandfather's," Chuck points out. He doesn't mean that to come out as an accusation, but somehow it does.

"I know." Charlotte glances up, a rare frown tugging at her lips. "I already told you, I knew your grandfather."

"You said you knew him a long time ago."

"A very, _very_ long time ago," she reminds him.

"When you were a little girl?" he asks.

"I never said that," Charlotte points out.

Chuck shakes his head. "Alright, I'm lost."

"Listen," Charlotte says with a sigh. "I knew your grandfather, I know Emerson, and now I know you. That's all there is to it."

At that very moment, the first seeds of knowledge lodge themselves somewhere in Chuck's mind. He still doesn't know what Charlotte's talking about, but he feels like she's finally getting at something.

oooooooooooooo

There's a package from his mother waiting for him a few days later. He carries it up to his apartment, through the light drizzle that's dripping from the dark clouds above. Chuck tears away the tape and pries open the box, reaching for the brief note resting on top.

_Chuck,_

_I was going through some of your grandfather's things, and I found some old pictures. I thought you might like__ to see__ them._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Beneath the letter he finds a stack of old photographs. His grandfather had never been fond of pictures, but he had kept a few photo albums cataloging Christmases and Thanksgivings.

None of these pictures, however, had made it into those albums.

There were photos of now-ancient buildings and cars. There were half a dozen of his grandfather, not much older than Chuck himself was now, in the kitchen of a younger Pie Hole, with a golden retriever, not at all unlike Digby. Emerson made an appearance in a few of the pictures, as well as a pretty blonde waitress whom Chuck is certain he's met once, although her name escapes him now.

An odd mixture of joy and longing bubbles up inside of Chuck as he peruses the portraits of a life long gone, and at that moment he misses his grandfather more than he has in the months since his passing.

The last photo in the stack, however, tears his heart out of his chest and replaces it with a gaping chasm of dread and stark realization.

That feeling is the driving force that leads him to Charlotte's apartment. By now the sky has open up, unleashing an absolute torrent, but he pays that very little heed as he hammers his fist against the front door.

He's gasping by the time she opens it, and rather than trying to form words (because he's not sure if he can) Chuck holds up the photograph for her to see.

Charlotte doesn't say anything, either; she leads him inside and to the couch, placing a blanket across his shoulders.

"You're drenched," she points out, but Chuck is so far beyond caring that he barely registers her words.

"Do you have any idea how old this picture is?" he demands, waving it in front of her face. "Do you have any idea?"

Charlotte takes the photo in her own hands and examines it, shaking her head sadly.

"It's over fifty years old," Chuck tells her, because they both know she isn't going to answer. "Fifty, Charlotte. _Fifty. _And you haven't aged a day."

Because really, she hasn't. The Charlotte Charles that's sitting right there next to him on the couch, her leg barely brushing his, looks exactly identical to the Charlotte Charles that's right there smiling next to his grandfather, and very pointedly _not _touching him.

"I guess I could lie," Charlotte says slowly, still studying the picture intently. "I could say that this woman's my grandmother. Or I could tell you that it's a complete coincidence, and that I don't know her at all." Now she glances up, catching Chuck's gaze, and he can clearly see the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you, Chuck, because we both know what happened to me."

"No," Chuck whispers, shaking his head. "No, I don't."

"You do," she insists, and now the tears are rolling down her cheeks. "You're like him. You're special."

He barks out a harsh laugh. "I don't think that's the word for it. Unnatural, maybe. Cursed."

"That's not true," Charlotte protested.

"It is!" Chuck launches to his feet, and paces across the room. "He made me promise, you know – that I'd never bring a person back. He said that terrible things would happen. Terrible, horrible, _wretched_ things. And they have – look at you. He brought you back to life, and now…"

"I'm stuck." A grim smile claims Charlotte's features. "And I'm not the only one."

Both of their gazes turn to Digby, who's been curled up in his bed, watching the entire exchange. Chuck collapses back onto the couch and buries his face in his hands.

A moment later he feels Charlotte's warm touch on his shoulder, and he glances up, another realization streaking across his mind.

"He couldn't touch you," he murmurs. Charlotte looks away, but nods all the same.

"It came close, once," she explains, her voice far-off. "I knew what it would do to him if something happened to me. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself, and I couldn't live with that. So I left. It was selfish and awful and I regret it. I'm going to regret it forever…literally."

They're both quiet for a very long time, the only noise the constant pitter patter of rain against the roof.

"Why did you come back?" Chuck asks ages later. Charlotte looks back at him now, a thoughtful look on her face.

"I came back for you," she tells him seriously. "You needed my help."

Chuck frowns in confusion. "What?"

"Your grandfather's not the only one who stopped living," she says pointedly.

Chuck's relatively sure he knows where this is going, but he's equally sure he doesn't like it. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you do." Charlotte shakes he head and sighs. "The second he died you dropped everything about yourself so you could become him. And that's not fair to either of you. He already lived his life, Chuck, he doesn't need you to do that for him."

"But..."

"Why did you want to be a lawyer?" Charlotte demands, cutting him off.

"To help people," Chuck responds automatically. "To fight for liberty and justice and all of that."

"Then why give up?" Charlotte asks.

Chuck opens his mouth to reply once more, but this time, he pauses. Because really, the only thing that's changed is that his grandfather is gone – Chuck himself is exactly the same.

"Oh," he says finally. Charlotte laughs and rises from her seat.

"I'm going to make some tea," she tells him. "You're probably freezing."

Chuck realizes that he is, but there's something still more pressing on his mind.

"What about you?" he asks.

Charlotte looks peeks her head out of the kitchenette and frowns. "What about me?"

"Is this what you want?" he clarifies.

She leans in the doorway and regards him seriously. "I want to believe that there's a reason I'm still here," she tells him. "I don't want this all to be meaningless."

"So, what, your purpose is to unleash hordes of lawyers on the unsuspecting planet?" Chuck asks, grinning.

"That's my purpose today," she replies with a laugh. "Tomorrow, who knows?"

oooooooooooooo

She tells him that it's not cheating, not _really_, but he isn't quite sure he believes her.

"Waking the dead to ask who killed them?" Chuck frowns, shaking his head. "That definitely _sounds_ like cheating. I thought lawyers were supposed to rely on evidence."

"Yeah, well, they're also supposed to rely on testimony," Charlotte counters. "And this is directly from the source."

"Somehow I don't think the dead victim's testimony will hold up in court," Chuck muses.

Charlotte laughs, and takes another sip of her tea. "I'm sure you'll make it work. Ned always did."

"_What_?"

"I guess you haven't heard those stories, have you?" Charlotte shakes her head. "My, my, we were quite the trio."

"Who?"

"Your grandfather, Emerson, and me," she explained. "But you know, I don't think Emerson ever really liked me that much…"

oooooooooooooo

One day, she's just gone.

Chuck checks her apartment, but it's empty. She didn't say a word, or call, or anything...she just vanished.

He'd known that she wouldn't stay, but he hadn't known that it would hurt this badly when she left.

He winds up back at the Pie Hole, and that's where he finds it. A delivery box, with a pie that smells vaguely of gruyere, with a note resting on top.

_I'll see you around. Thank you, for everything._

_Love,_

_Chuck_

**END**

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_Please review! Thanks for reading!_

**_Child of a Pineapple (orangeyarn on LJ)_**


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